Mrs. Sinha frowned on seeing food spattered on her balcony.
“Kissne phenka?” she asked her long-suffering maid, Shanti.
Shanti’s shrug spoke of her disinterest. They paid her to clean, not to unravel the mystery of how food was mysteriously appearing on madam’s balcony.
“This is the third time someone has thrown food from the higher floors this week! Stop doing this vile thing!” Energised by disgust and irritation, her fingers flew over the phone’s keyboard as she shot off a message in the building WhatsApp group.
Higher above, on the seventeenth floor, at the breakfast table, Mrs. Malhotra tut-tutted after reading the message.
Mr. Malhotra looked up from the newspaper he was reading and frowned at the phone in Mrs. Malhotra’s hand.
“Didn’t we ban mobile phones at the dining table? We need to set an example for Mini.”
Mrs. Malhotra tossed back her perfectly blowdried curls before replying, “I can’t use the phone, but you can disappear behind the newspaper? Anyway, Mini is yet to come for breakfast.”
Turning back to her phone, she typed out, “Yuck! People, please have some civic sense.”
Duly chastened, Mr. Malhotra kept the newspaper on the side. Picking up the tea cup, he asked,” Who are you messaging early in the morning? And why is Mini not at the breakfast table?”
“Mini! Mini!” he called out.
“Apparently, someone has been throwing food onto Mrs Sinha’s balcony,” Mrs. Malhotra replied, putting away her phone.
“Good morning, beta*,” she added as their sixteen-year-old daughter, Mini, slipped into a chair opposite her.
Pushing the plate of fruit with a well-manicured hand towards Mini, Mrs. Malhotra said, “Mini darling, you should start gym sessions if you want to look good for your prom.”
Mini’s hand, reaching for the toast, stopped midair.
Pulling her hand back, she looked at her plate before mumbling, “I have extra classes, Mom. How will I take the time out for the gym?”
Giving a pointed look at Mini’s waist, Mrs. Malhotra replied, “You will need to take the time out, my dear.”
Looking at the red rising in Mini’s cheeks, Mr. Malhotra jumped into the fray. “Studies are more important than prom.”
“And anyway, Mini looks good in everything she wears,” he added, placing two well-buttered toasts on Mini’s plate.
Giving a wink and a kiss on Mini’s forehead, Mr. Malhotra bid them farewell before leaving for the office.
When they were alone, Mrs. Malhotra said, “I don’t want to be a nag darling, but losing weight will help you.”
Mini looked at her mother, dressed in yoga pants and a crop top. Her waist, Mini knew, since Mrs.Malhotra had repeated the fact many times, was still a trim twenty-six inches. Quelling the flare of resentment in her heart against her mother, Mini gave a small nod. Leaving the toast on her plate, she rushed back to her room.
In the privacy of her bedroom, Mini walked to the mirror, inspecting her reflection critically. Instead of seeing a young girl on the cusp of womanhood, she saw a fat, shapeless blob. She pinched the folds of her stomach with her fingers, wishing she had a knife to cut off the fat. With each passing moment, her disgust with herself grew, until she could bear it no more. Defeated, she flopped on the window seat, tears of frustration streaming down her cheeks.
“Mini, see I made you favourite chhole-chawal. You skipped lunch too,” Mrs. Malhotra said as Mini walked into the dining room that night.
Observing the dullness of her face, Mr. Malhotra placed a hand on Mini’s forehead.
“Are you ok?” he asked, worried.
“Just tired,” she replied.
Filling a bowl with food, Mini said, “If you don’t mind, may I have dinner in my room? I have some homework to finish.”
Not waiting for their reply, Mini went back to her room.
The next morning, Mrs. Sinha frowned on seeing the mess of chhole-chawal strewn on the edge of her balcony.
“Not again,” she muttered, reaching for her phone.
Featured Image from Unsplash
This post has been written for #BlogchatterFoodFest You can read the previous posts by clicking on the links below.
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